Broken Boy Soldier
by Bellum Gerere
Summary: Sequel to "Breaking The Habit." A former Dauntless leader whose life was shattered by a syringe and an initiate who let him shatter her too. Torn apart by a brutal war, will they ever be reunited? AU/OOC. Rating may change.
1. In Transit

_Quick note: This is going to be written in dual POV that switches every two chapters. Thought I'd mention that now so nobody is confused later. Thanks to everyone who followed over from "Breaking The Habit!"_

**Broken Boy Soldier  
Chapter One: In Transit  
Eric Matthews**

Blood is a strange color. In my veins it is blue running alongside brown. When a bullet goes through my foot it comes out red as Asher's lipstick, and dries like rust. Eventually it will fade away to angry pink scars, and slowly blend back into my pale skin. After that happens, I will not remember the beginning of the war, or knocking out my own mother, or laying in a train car on the way to Erudite headquarters spending entirely too much time thinking about blood. The world as I knew it has come crashing down around me and here I am, acting like it's an ordinary day, an ordinary high.

Later, after the euphoria erodes to a headache and the pain in my foot (not to mention my broken nose) returns, I will remember that it was a terrible idea to let Christina shoot me up in the first place. I could have managed without the drugs, especially since I'd been so committed to quitting, at least for a couple days. But then she'd convinced me with her pleading eyes, so obviously concerned for my well-being, and now I'm back to square one, wondering if, at this point, after two years, I'll ever find the incentive to quit. Maybe if the pain finally stops—but that's unrealistic. It will never stop, and I don't know if I'm strong enough to live through it without a little medicinal assistance.

I sit up to stare out of the train and the wind whips in, flinging my greasy, tangled hair around my face, where I have to work it out of several probably-infected piercings. There is blood crusted under my nose from when I fell on the steps and smashed it. My first priority when I pass all the security checks at Erudite would be to clean myself up. I know I can heal my nose in an instant, if I can get access to the right medicine, and to do that, I need to look the part of a loyal Dauntless lackey, one of Jeanine's many lapdogs.

In my pocket is a strip of blue fabric long enough to wrap around and tie onto my arm. (I try not to think about what else it could be used for regarding my arm.) By putting it on, I more or less pledge my allegiance to Erudite. I become one of those faceless lapdogs, destined only to do my mother's bidding, at least for a little while. Just until I can safely leave and get back to Christina. I'm already going crazy with worry, and we've barely been apart for twenty minutes. If the Dauntless traitors show up at Candor…I shudder at the thought.

The voice in the back of my head, the sensible part of me, knows that she will probably be safe in Candor, at least for now. They're likely to stay out of the conflict as a whole until the truth is revealed—or the most convenient version of the truth, anyway. The version that somehow makes their faction look good and the others look evil. And Jeanine is the master of manipulation. Getting the others on her side will be child's play for her.

There are lights beginning to flicker in the corner of my vision. Erudite headquarters. Their lights are almost always on, city ordinances be damned, though it makes sense for them to have them on now, now that a war has broken out and they are at the helm of it. They're probably got the place locked up tight, so I'll have to be ready to go through a lot of security checkpoints before they even let me through the door.

I take a deep breath and begin the arduous process of pulling myself up to my feet. It's a long time coming, but I finally manage to do it, and sling my bag over my shoulder. I'm leaning slightly to one side, I realize, because of my foot. I wonder how long I will be limping, how well they can heal it, considering I've been walking and running and jumping on it strictly against doctor's orders. Will they even heal me, after I so openly defied my mother? Will the leave me on the street to rot, or put a target on my back?

But I don't have time to worry about that right now. The light are in the center of the train door and if I don't start moving now, I'll miss them entirely. I don't bother with a running start, it won't help me regain my balance when I land. I just jump, and fall on hard concrete, bruising and scraping myself further, though I manage to avoid landing on my face again. It takes me yet another minute to get up, using a streetlamp as leverage. Upright, I survey my location. I am only a few blocks away from Erudite headquarters, and I can already see guards patrolling the streets. No matter which way I go, they are going to see me, and might even shoot at me if I don't make it clear who I am.

I reach into the outside pocket of my bag and pull out the blue strip of fabric. It makes me sick to look at it, much less wear it, and the thought of actually physically showing the world that I am outwardly supportive of my mother's suicide plan is a disgusting one. But I have to, if I want them to let me though. Slowly, with fumbling bloody hands, I tie it around my arm. Then, head held high, I stride down the streets towards Erudite headquarters.

As suspected, everyone I pass is immediately on guard. Many of them point guns at me, but I just keep walking, trying to look like I belong here. It almost wouldn't make a difference if they shot me, though. I would rather die than carry out her insane orders. But I can't. I promised Christina I would see her again. So, even though it is beyond painful not to limp, I keep walking.

The closer I get to the door of Erudite headquarters, the more guards there are, and the more they respond to my presence. A few even look like they want to stop me, but they don't .I can be intimidating when I want to, especially covered in blood and piercings. Putting on this act is not strange for me—in the past two years, it's how I've gotten people to leave me alone, by playing the role of unapproachable Dauntless leader. That skill, acquired from years of being alone, is serving me well now, and for a moment I stop worrying and begin to hope I might actually make it through unscathed.

And then, of course, I am stopped right at the door.

"What's your name?" the head guard asks, throwing his arm over the entrance. Next to him, another guard holds up a scanner. Hey don't really need to ask my name, it will tell them, as well as all my vital stats—height, weight, blood type, current and former faction, and most importantly, what my aptitude test results were. Always looking for Divergents, Jeanine is. Not that I personally need to worry about that. My test labelled me a textbook Erudite, of course. Those results were not an accident.

"Eric Matthews," I say coldly, just as the guard from the scanner looks up, his face white. I don't know what it says about me on that thing, but right now I'm dying to find out. He taps the shoulder of the man who stopped me and holds up the scanner.

"Interesting," the head guard says, smirking as he looks up at me. "I knew there was something off about you.

_Off?_ What does that mean? "I'm not quite sure what you're implying, but I can assure you you'll find nothing wrong with my scan." I try to keep my voice as cool and collected as possible but on the inside I am on fire, and not just because I'm high. What could they possibly see on that scanner that is making them react that way?

"No, there's nothing wrong with it," the guard counters. "Just interesting. You've been cleared for entry. Follow me."

"I know where I'm going," I say, almost snapping.

"I do realize you were once Erudite, Mr. Matthews. However, our orders were to bring you straight to Jeanine, so I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me. "He turns and starts into the building and I have no choice but to follow, hoping no one will notice how my hands are shaking.


	2. Erudite

_I keep wanting to write "Breaking The Habit" on the header…that's going to take a while to fix. It's still kind of surreal to me, especially considering the flood of e-mails I've gotten regarding the ending. Thank you all so much for your support! I'm going to try to reply to reviews more consistently, but I can't promise anything. I'm working on several one-shots right now as well as a new multi-chapter story that will all be up sometime in May, and I'm also continuing "Assassin." I'm going to try to have one chapter up a week, even if that means writing them out in advance and stockpiling them._

**Broken Boy Soldier  
Chapter Two: Erudite  
Eric Matthews**

They lead me down hallways whose twists and turns I already have memorized, acting as if I've never even laid eyes on the compound before. It's almost painful, actually, being led around like a dog on a leash. Jeanine's dog, which I've unwillingly been the whole time. I don't speak to the guards, and they apparently realize it's better to let me stew in silence. This continues all the way to the door of Jeanine's office, where they throw their arms out in front of me and I grind to a screeching halt. "Wait here," one of them instructs, and they vanish through the door, leaving me alone.

So for a few minutes I stand there, eyeing the security cameras mounted in the upper corners of the door frame. They're incredibly small, made to be invisible to the naked eye, but when you know a building as well as I know the Erudite compound, you start to notice things like that. Not that the guards would believe that. I wonder if they even know about the cameras, or if that's a little administrative secret. It wouldn't surprise me if Jeanine had an entire network of cameras no one else know about, just to make sure everybody does her bidding.

The door opens again and through it I see a guard beckoning me forward. I step through without hesitation, even though every part of me is screaming leave, this is bad, this is wrong. To be here is not to be where I need to be—with Christina. Anything could have happened to her by now. The traitor Dauntless could hurt her. Candor could reject her. She might not even be alive right now. The thought sends me into a mild fit and I stop abruptly in the middle of the door frame, hyperventilating. I look up and there she is, the bitch herself, sitting with hands folded behind her desk. She raises an eyebrow at me and I straighten up, evening out my breathing, because I can't appear weak in front of her, I just can't. Not if I ever want to get out of here.

"I was wondering when you would grace us with your presence," she says, and this time I am not the only one who hears the current of anger beneath her sarcastic remark. She dismisses the guards with a flick of her wrist, and they are only too happy to ovey, scurrying out and letting the door close behind them with a thud. Now it is just us, so quiet I could hear a needle drop.

"Why do you want me here?" I blurt. "So you can have a set of five? Look like you've got more support than you actually do? Only half of the faction is behind you. We could easily outnumber you if it came to that." Okay, I don't know about that, and most of that was bluffing, but I've made my point. What's the use of making me support her? She might as well kill me. Either way, all she's done is create a martyr.

"To the contrary, my dear." I cringe. She only does that to make me uncomfortable, and right now it's working. "You'll find the numbers are undeniably skewed in my favor. Over half the Dauntless have already checked in at the door, and I have no reason to believe more won't follow suit."

More than half? That can't possibly be right. The groups I saw earlier looked fairly even. Besides, not that many people could actually think my crazy mother is right. I don't necessarily think the faction system is good, even though I fled to it to escape my past, but to dismantle it forcibly through an all-out war? That's not the way to go about this, and she knows it. She just wants to be in charge, and war is a perfect way to make everyone look to her for guidance.

"They won't," I reply, hoping my nervousness doesn't show too much. "Sooner or later they're all going to realize you're wrong, and then you'll have no one." It's probably too much to ask for. People are like sheep, flocking to whoever has the biggest crook, and right now, that's Jeanine. This is the least chaotic faction, that's for sure. No screaming, no blood, no death. At least not visibly.

"I doubt that. It was a valiant effort on your part, though." She's grinning in a way that says she's won, and I can't stand it. I have to say something, or else I might explode from all the emotion I'm holding in.

"What's there to stop me from just leaving?" _Great idea, Eric. Threaten her. That'll do us all so much good_. But it's the only thing I can think of and besides, I'm technically right. If I can get Christina to safety, I can follow her, and they'd never be able to find us. I could just fight my way out right now…

"Asher."

I freeze, my hands clenches into fists to hide their shaking. How could I have completely forgotten about Asher? I am her only hope of returning to life, and I nearly just threw that away. Words cannot even describe the shame I feel at forgetting the one person who knows absolutely everything about me, the person I've spent most of my life with.

"That's what I thought," she says, looking at the barely-controlled trembling of my hands, the tears gathering behind my eyes, making them glisten. Seeing her in an Erudite test lab, hooked up to machines that were living for her while she lay there battered and helpless, was one of the hardest things I'd ever had to do, and now I'm seeing it again in the back of my mind, in all its painful glory. I'm sure she knows the anguish she's awoken in me, and she wants me to remember it, or else she wouldn't bring it up. What I need to keep in mind if I stay here (and it looks like I'll have to) is that nothing my mother does is without a purpose. If she brings up Asher—even going so far as to use the nickname I coined, which she always hated—she wants to make sure that Ash, and her death, and the possibility I might see her again, are at the front of my mind, and Christina is at the back. She's doing this because she doesn't want me to leave.

"Why do you need me so much?" I know I've asked the same question over and over, but I can't help it. She has yet to give me a straight answer.

"Plenty of time for that, my sweet son. Plenty of time." Her sarcastic terms of endearment are making me want to vomit, and I grit my teeth. Somehow I have to get through this. It's only for a little while, I keep reminding myself. Just until I'm safe, and they're safe.

"Now, then." She shuffles some of the papers on her desk and pulls out a folder. On the tab I see the name _Matthews, Eric_. My file. She opens it and on the top of the stack of papers inside is a copy of my latest scan, the one I took at the door. The one that the guard said something was off about. I tilt my head in an attempt to read it, but the print is too small and I am too far away, not to mention the paper is upside-down. "We noticed something interesting about your scan when you were stopped at the door."

"I'm aware." My voice is controlled, not shaking at all, but as usual, my hands belie my nervousness. What could possibly be so wrong with it?

"It seems you still haven't been able to kick a certain nasty little habit."

Of course. Instigate. The scan recognized something foreign in my bloodstream and recorded it in my date. And it's highly likely this isn't the first time it's happened—just the first time someone's mentioned it.

"I wasn't aware it was a problem," I reply smoothly.

"Well, it is, and we're going to have to fix it. Luckily, I have just the thing." She makes a small motion with her hand, and the door opens behind me. Suddenly I am surrounded by guards.

"I've been working on a new serum aimed specifically at your…problem."

I feel a needle in my neck and I fall to the ground, my vision rapidly blurring.

"One shot should do it."


	3. Candor

_My new updating schedule is tentatively set at one chapter a week for the next month or so. That's about until I get out of school, and until then I'm going to be plagued with papers and exams and the like, so I won't have as much time to write. The week after finals, I'm going to be posting a new story for an entirely different fandom (which I referenced in the last chapter, if anyone caught it) along with a one-shot that ties into it, and I'm going to be spending a lot of time developing those, which is another reason for the new schedule. Also, is anyone interested in me doing a one-shot from Asher's POV detailing more about her and Eric's relationship? I kind of want to write one, but I want to know if there's going to be interest in it first. Let me know!_

**Broken Boy Soldier  
Chapter Three: Candor  
Christina Marias**

Candor headquarters is easily the tallest building in the sector, eighteen stories of black-and-white marble. The letters over the door spell out MERC IS MART. Apparently, it used to read 'Merchandise Mart' (though the letters fell off long before I was born) but it has since been nicknamed the Merciless Mart because of my former faction's unending devotion to honesty. It is a cruel name, but not entirely untrue. Candor has been known to practically torture people in order to get the truth—or, at least, the truth they want. The serum they use can be painful if one tries to resist it. I've seen initiates break under its influence and become factionless as a result, in the final stage of Candor initiation. It was one of the reasons I changed factions to begin with. I don't want everyone knowing my secrets—especially now.

I can't help but wonder if my life would have differed greatly had I stayed, or if either way I would end up here, standing in front of the Merciless Mart with wringing hands. Despite the fact that it's against city ordinances, all the lights are on, and Candor stream inside from surrounding apartments, most in pajamas and wearing confused looks. I scan the crowd, looking for anyone I know, anyone in Dauntless clothing. Maybe they didn't come here. Maybe they all turned traitor, in which case we are fucked. But I can't keep myself from searching for a particular face, even though I know I won't see him. By now he will be well on his way to Erudite, right into the mouth of the beast.

Until he comes back, I'm going to worry that he'd dead. Anything could happen to him there. Jeanine could decide any moment that he'd be of more use to her dead than alive. The thought alone is so painful that I dig my nails into the raw, bloody skin on my arm to try and distract myself form it. It doesn't work—not like I expected it too. Tears prick the back of my eyes and I blink them back. I can't let this get to me, not now. He told me to be safe.

In order to further distract myself, I return to scanning the faces in front of me. I am beginning to see bloody Dauntless uniforms mixing in with the confused Candor. Soon they will arrive in droves, and the faction leaders will have to decide what to do with them. Hopefully they will let us stay. I don't know where I'll go if they reject us. My heart is telling me that if I went to Erudite headquarters, they wouldn't kill me because of my association with Eric, but my head knows this is a lie. They would shoot me on sight and not even Eric, Dauntless leader and son of the mastermind, could stop it. No, following the group would probably be the best way to go if they did kick us out. At least then, there would be people looking out for me.

When I focus on the crowd, I see much more interesting things than the inner turmoil in my head. The curious and worried whispers have become interspersed with screams, some joyful, some anguished. Sometimes I forget I am not the only Dauntless with family in Candor. Usually they would ignore it. Faction before blood, right? But now that Dauntless is a wasteland, the idea of factions is ridiculous to me. I am no longer Candor, nor am I Dauntless. I am simply Christina, and Christina is lost.

Why, then, is someone calling my name?

I gasp as a body slams into me, arms wrap around me. Instinctively, I hug them back, even though I have no idea who this person is. The build is tall and muscular, probably a male, but definitely not the one I wish it was. Under my fingers I feel the rough material of a Dauntless training jacket instead of smooth leather. There is no hair falling into my eyes, although I shouldn't be surprised. Most Dauntless wear it short, if for no other reason than to keep it out of the way during stunts. I want so badly for it to be Eric, but I know it can't be.

The question remains, though: Who is it?

I look up, and to my surprise it's Uriah. 'What are you doing here?" I ask. My voice is half gasp and half shocked hoarseness. I could've sworn I saw his older brother Zeke with the traitor Dauntless, and I'd assumed they would stick together. To be honest, I don't even know either of them that well, but to see a familiar face in the middle of all this chaos is exactly what I needed, even if I didn't quite realize it until now. If only it was the face I actually wanted to see…

"I was going to ask you the same thing." His words snap me to attention, and I actually look at his face, taking in his confused expression. "Eric was looking for you earlier. I assumed you were going with the leaders." He pauses and furrows his brow. He's smart enough to know that something doesn't add up here. I just hope he doesn't figure out the real connection. Instigate isn't exactly illegal, but it would definitely bad for Eric if the wrong people found out about his habit. "If you're here, then where is he?"

I exhale, and some of the tension leaves my body. This I can handle. This I expected. "At Erudite headquarters. He has to keep up appearances, being a leader. But he's on our side." He frowns. It's obvious he doesn't believe me. "You can trust me on this, Uriah."

"It's not you I can't trust." As angry as it makes me, I understand where he's coming from. When I first met Eric Matthews I saw him the same way everyone else did—a cruel leader who was probably too young to fully understand his responsibilities. Then he found me in the hallway and my perception shifted to confused drug addict with a bit of a mean streak. And what is he to me now? Even after so much emotional (not to mention physical) intimacy, I'm still not sure. But part of me loves him, and he told me he feels the same. His motives are sometimes sketchy, his morals twisted, but I know I can trust him to tell me the truth. If I couldn't, I would have let him put me right into the path of danger if he told me he was protecting me. But he didn't. I'm here, and I'm alive, which to me is proof enough of his loyalty.

"Look, I know what you must think of him. But right now I need you to believe me when I say he can be trusted. I mean, you say he was looking for me, and I'm here, right? Alive and unscathed." I spread my arms so he can see that my clothes aren't torn, and the only blood on them is Will's. Thinking about him in conjunction with Eric makes my head hurt, so I push the thought away for now. Uriah doesn't look convinced.

"How do I know he isn't just making you say that?" I can't help but roll my eyes at that one. Does he really not believe I can hold my own against a Dauntless leader? He wasn't there, I remember, when Eric hung me over the chasm. If he had been, maybe he would think differently of me. Then again, he might just seem me as the victim of a senseless act of intimidation and violence. He'd be wrong. Yes, Eric shouldn't have done it, but he had an explanation, at least. That had to count for something.

"You know what? Fine," I say, throwing my hands in the air. "If you want to demonize an innocent person who was forced into doing something he didn't want to do, go right ahead. But I'm smarter than that."

I probably should have phrased that differently, I think as he opens his mouth to retort. But (to my everlasting gratefulness) he is cut off by another person yelling my name. No, two people, and the voices sound like they're probably female. I peer around him at the crowd and see two figures, definitely feminine, break away from the stream and run towards me.

"Do you know them?" Uriah asks, looking over his shoulder. I realize he doesn't know this is where I transferred from.

"Yes," I reply, and for the first time since I left Eric I feel a genuine smile begin to appear on my face. "It's my family."


	4. Family

_Question: does anyone actually read these things?_

**Broken Boy Soldier  
Chapter Four: Family  
Christina Marias**

For some reason, they look surprised to see me, I can tell. But they must have seen the other loyal Dauntless heading for the Merciless Mart. Did they think I would turn traitor? (Have I been dead to them since I switched?) Do they even know what's going on? (Was I ever alive to them in the first place?) As they near me I can see their expressions, and though they look relieved to see me, I know better. The confusion shines through more than anything. They want to know what I am doing—what _we_ are doing—ruining the perfect world the two of the built after my father abandoned us.

Even though it's the least important thing on my mind right now, the thought of my father still stings. Divorce is common in Candor—if a marriage isn't working out, why lie about it? Better to let things fall apart. Even so, what my father did to us was exceptionally cruel, even for Candor—in fact, it almost got him kicked out of the faction. He was caught cheating. It's one of the worst forms to lying, and if he hadn't been such a smooth talker, he would have been out on the street, factionless. He's still here, though, happily married to the woman who ruined the lives of my family. So began the growing of an emotional rift between me and my mother and sister that became a beak when I transferred.

_At least you had a father_, a voice in my head whispers. Yes, I'm being selfish, and I mentally admonish myself for it. I remember a night in the hallway, one of many, when (before he got too fucked up to talk) Eric told me about his sorry excuse for a mother, his parentless childhood. It could always be worse. I could've been saddled with Jeanine. How he lasted sixteen years under her control, I don't know. At least I had a happy decade before my family fell apart.

"Christina! Thank God you're alright." Suddenly I am caught up in yet another embrace, this one trying and failing to be motherly. Even when we were a supposedly happy family, she could never quite pull that one off. M y sister lurks behind her. She is tall and slender like me, but that's where the similarities end. Whereas I prefer to keep my hair short, hers is almost down to her waist, and though she loves fashion and makeup as much as I do (or, at least, as much as I used to) she does it for all the wrong reasons. All she's ever been concerned with is attracting boys. The part of me that still cares worries constantly about where she'll end up in a few years.

"Yes, I'm fine," I say breathlessly as I untangle myself from her chilly embrace. I look around and realize Uriah has slipped away, and a weight drops into the pit of my stomach. Childish as it is, I was going to use him as a distraction so I wouldn't be taking the full force of their attention. Rose, at least, probably would have stopped noticing me completely if he was around. But he's gone and they're both staring, waiting for me to say something else. "Do you two even know what's going on?"

"No," Rose says in a tone that clearly implies that she thinks I'm an idiot. "We just heard all the screaming and came downstairs. How could we possibly fucking know—"

"What your sister means to say," my mother interrupts, sending Rose a glare, "is that we were woken by all the commotion, and when we looked outside and saw the Dauntless, we thought you might be here." Something about her story seems off, but I dismiss it for now. My mother always tries to paint herself in the best possible light. Why would this be any different? Even when all our lives are at stake, she's still the same narcissistic bitch. It's hard not to roll my eyes at her and my sister. I just escaped the battlefield of a full-blown war, and they're acting like children.

But I hold my tongue. "Of course" is all I say, even though I want to say so much more. Part of me wants to scream at her for abandoning my sister and I emotionally after my father left. To accuse her of widening the gap between us on purpose by dropping hints that we should transfer. To ask her why she looked so relieved when I actually did. I know this isn't the time to be saying these things, but for a minute all I can think about is shoving it back in her face, what a terrible person she is. And then I see the look on my sister's face and realize, in a way, I already have.

"We just rushed right outside to find you. And we're so glad to see you're not hurt, darling." Her hands flit over my jacket, and I can tell she sees the blood because her nose wrinkles. "You _are _unharmed, aren't you?"

"Yes. The blood isn't mine." I pause, wondering if I should tell them, and then decide it would do no harm. "A friend of mine was shot and killed."

My sister, for what it's worth, at least has the courtesy to appear genuinely upset and concerned for my well-being. On the other hand, my mother's sympathetic noise s are all too fake. I wonder how she made it this long in Candor, considering her every movement is a lie. "Oh, I'm so sorry, sweetheart." She draws me into another stiff-armed hug, and I can feel the tension in my own shoulders double, drawn stiff by her embrace. I cannot exhale until she draws back.

I am about to mumble some false words of thanks, hoping to placate her for the time being, when over her shoulder, I spot a familiar head of artificially-red hair. "Ivoree!" I yell, hoping it's her, and that I got her name right, because I really need to talk to one of his friends right now. And she turns her head and sees me, making me exhale in silent relief. She comes up to me and hugs me and I don't mind so much this time, because I know she's actually happy to see me. I can't help but hope she has some news about Eric, though I know since she's here and he isn't, it's unlikely.

"Are you okay?" I ask before she can say anything. Eric and I didn't see her at Abnegation. Or David, for that matter, which makes it all the more odd, because they're usually inseparable. I wonder if he faked defecting to keep an eye on Eric. If he did, I am eternally in his debt.

"I'm fine. David's not here, though. Have you seen him?" I shake my head. So they were separated. She doesn't know if he's here or not. My heart sinks. "What about Eric?"

"He had to go with the traitors," I say, feeling the weight of the words press my shoulders down. "He's a leader. They would have killed him otherwise." The look on her face has changed to one of pure horror, and she's shaking her head back and forth, although that gesture appears unconscious "What?" I ask slowly, not sure if I actually want an answer.

"Candor just issued a statement. That's why I was out here, hoping to find you." This does not bode well, especially considering the look on her face. "Any leader who comes here—or any traitor, for that matter—is to be immediately arrested and detained for questioning. And if they don't like what they hear…"

"No." It's me who's shaking my head now, but I can't help it. This is the worst possible outcome. If she's about to say what I think she is, then I have no choice but to remain separated from Eric. He will be in even more constant danger than he is now. Despite the fact that every cell in my body is rejecting this information, she continues anyway.

"…if he comes here, Eric could get killed."


	5. Father

_Some apologies are definitely in order, especially for those of you who just got their first taste of "Bellum-disappears-for-months-at-a-time." Let me just say home is a bad writing environment for me and during the summer when I have no other place to go, I get sucked into non-writing hell. That being said, I have posted a couple new things on AO3 (user in my profile) since I moved back out. I've got a writing schedule now so hopefully weekly updates will be a thing, or at least you'll be able to know I'm working on it weekly. Thank you all so much for your incredible patience, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

**Broken Boy Soldier  
Chapter Five: Father  
Eric Matthews**

When I wake, my head is pounding, and Christian is above me.

I blink a few times to clear my blurry vision, and I assume she will disappear with the spots, but she doesn't. She looks exquisite above me, dirty blonde hair tousled, face thin and paler than I remember. But Instigate will do that to you. I myself am nothing more than skin and bone now. This wouldn't be the first time a serum of my mother's induced vivid fever dreams. I wave my heavy hand in front o my face and am surprised to see it catch on her cheekbone. Her skin is warm and soft and she immediately puts her hand over mine and grips it tight, like she's afraid I'll slip away, that all this is just a dream.

"Eric," she says, and there is an urgency in her voice, a longing that draws me in and pulls me taut against her words, and I'll do whatever she wants. "You have to listen to me, okay? Because in a few minutes they're going to knock you out again, and when you wake up you won't remember any of this. But you have to try and remember this. You need to know I'm alive, okay? This is real, and I'm here. Asher, too."

My breath catches in my chest and it hurts, a sharp blinding pain that steals the air straight from my lungs. "Asher's alive?" I remember it all too vividly: the blood seeping from wounds in her head and chest and hands, carrying her to the infirmary while the life slipped out of her, the seemingly odd last request that her body be sent back to Erudite instead of being cremated like most Dauntless. By the time I ended up here I'd all but given up hope that I'll ever see her again. She would never know that everything I did, every horrible command of my mother's I obeyed, it was all for her. I wouldn't risk her second chance at life, even if it meant destroying my first and only.

She nods, and the smile on her face is bittersweet. "Yeah, she is. I was there when she woke up." Is it my imagination or is she crying? I can feel water on the tips of my fingers. Or is it sweat? I'm so nervous that it wouldn't surprise me, though my mouth is dry. And Christian never so much as sheds a tear, not even when the rankings went up for Stage One and she was lowest among the transfers, not after the fear simulations like so many of us did, not even in the moments leading up to her death. To see her eyes shining with tears is a shock, and not entirely a pleasant one, though it doesn't mitigate my joy at seeing her alive.

"Can I see her?" A spot on the back of my limp left hand is beginning to feel cold. I look over (it is difficult to tear my eyes away from her) and there is an IV in my hand, pumping into my body a liquid the color of springtime. I'm not quite sure what it is but I know it's meant to knock me out, and it's working. It's becoming more and more difficult to keep my heavy eyes open, and I feel as if I haven't slept in years. "I want to see her now."

Christian's face is painted on the back of my eyelids when they slip shut, and she is upset. "You can see her soon, I promise. Don't forget, okay? I need you to remember me."

~oOo~

I can tell when I peel my eyes open again that a very significant amount of time has passed. The room was dark in my vague memories of waking and falling back asleep, but now light is flooding in through a little slit of a window so high up that even I, at six foot three, would not be able to reach it—if I had the ability to use my legs, that is. But my entire body is numb except for my throbbing head and parched-dry throat. I know what that feeling means, better than I know anything. These are the first symptoms of withdrawal.

But that's impossible. There's no way I could already be this far into the life-or-death cycle that is my addiction. The turnaround time from high to withdrawn is a short one, it's true, but not _this _short, not less than twenty-four hours. I should still be at the very top of the mountain now, not already careening towards the bottom, but that's where I am. My arms and legs are fastened to the table—I can see the sterile white strap around one of my wrists, and assume they must be everywhere else too. I picture a band around my torso, holding me in place, and it makes me sick.

The door flies open and I shut my eyes, trying to make it look as though I am still knocked out. It could be anyone coming inside, and if they do not expect me to be awake, it might mean trouble for me. Sharp footsteps and polished shoes (because what else would someone from Erudite wear?) stop inches from my bed and I am cold all over, frozen with anxiety. I feel fingers at my wrist, checking for a pulse, and then a sigh.

"I know you're awake, Eric," a male voice says, mildly exasperated, and the pressure on my pulse point increases. I am finally beginning to regain feeling in the rest of my body, and it's incredibly painful, yet another sure sign that I'm somewhere in the withdrawal cycle because I've never felt bone-deep pain like this any other time. The needle slides out of my hand, a sickening pull, and I open my eyes slowly, coming face-to-face with my father.

To be clear, he and my mother never married, or had any romantic interaction at all, really. In reality he was more of a sperm donor, but on my birth certificate it lists him as father. My mother would never take away even a second of her precious research time for love (which I'm reasonably sure she's unable to feel) and definitely not for her only son. I am a publicity stunt, a test subject, a pawn, and she's never tried to pretend otherwise. What twisted plan of hers would involve sending Edward Branson, with whom I share half my genes, to my hospital room?

"What are you doing here?" I ask accusingly, and my throat burns with the weight of my situation. This time I am well and truly stuck, with no way to escape Erudite headquarters. I have no doubt that Jeanine is having me watched around the clock, and probably has a guard posted outside my door as well. Not to mention how incredibly weak I am, if I've gone into withdrawal within a day. Something is wrong with me.

"My job." He doesn't acknowledge in any way that we are technically related, not that I expected him to. I've only seen him a bare handful of times in my admittedly short life, and I feel as if he thinks he's chosen the right side. That fact alone sets us apart, and makes me uncomfortable being doctored by him. "You're a Dauntless leader; you know about that, right?"

He is mocking me and I know it, and there is no doubt in my mind that Jeanine sent him here. I want to run, leave this place and never return, but I still haven't gotten all the feeling in my legs back and besides, there's no way I could get out of the compound, considering how weak I am. So I lay there, strapped to the bed while he puts a different IV in my arm with a different drug, this one a light pink, the color of paralysis serum. To me it is a signal of something horrible about to happen, and I struggle for as long as I have control, though I know it's pointless. Soon I am back to numbness, only able to move my eyes.

I don't look over to see him leave, but I know when she enters because she makes sure that she is in my line of sight as she reads the charts on the foot of my bed. I want to glare at her but I am pinned in place by her cruelty, only able to listen as she speaks.

"How are the tests going?" she asks.


End file.
